


A Temporary Surrender: Cresting

by Minxie



Series: A Temporary Surrender [5]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: KINKS: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I'm the one you hit your knees for. I'm the one you beg for and the one you cry for. I'm the one you trust with those things, with the side of you no one else even believes exists."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Temporary Surrender: Cresting

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. Which, IMO, is a very sucky thing. Just sayin'.  
>  **AN:** Written in response to [this](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/1444.html?thread=1238948#t1238948) glam_kink prompt. And, yes, I took the prompt and put my spin on it. *facepalm* So, yeah, hope it's what the OP was looking for. *smackles* to Red and Karen for the beta reads.

Five days after giving it all up to Damien, Adam finally feels as if his skin fits again. He's spent hours at Damien's side, on his knees and on his back, laughing and crying and, at times, talking. He's been, still is, floating in the headspace, in the bubble of concern and understanding and protection that Damien creates every time Adam visits.

It's why Adam keeps coming back every year. Because of the way Damien breaks him down and then rebuilds him, smoothing out all of the wrinkles as he does it.

Waking up the sixth day with his cuffs on but the chains disconnected tells Adam he's going to lose it soon, lose the contentment that is found with just _being_ , with having no demands greater than sexual pleasure, honest emotions, and following Damien's rules. It's the first step in moving back into the coherence, the control necessary to manage things like his career and his personal life.

Sighing, he drags his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes, and then pulls his fingers through his hair. Sliding out of the bed, he pads first to the bathroom and then through the house, straight to Damien's side in the kitchen. Adam goes immediately to his knees and leans in, rubbing his face against Damien's thigh.

He fought too hard to get here to let it go gracefully.

"Easy," Damien whispers, a hand settling on Adam's shoulder. "Nothing else changes today."

Adam presses deeper into Damien's thigh.

"Over on your pillow. I don't want your knees aching." When Adam doesn't move, Damien taps him on the shoulder. "Now, pretty. I'll be right behind you."

He does as Damien says silently. He's not ready to talk. Not yet for today. Because the words itching to tumble out are _why_ and _not yet_. Instead he concentrates on breakfast, on the pieces of fruit and bites of pancakes that Damien prods him to take. He wraps his hands around the mug of hot tea, blowing across the steaming surface, and focuses on the muted sound of the tide coming in, of the waves rolling and crashing against the shore.

When his mug is near empty, Damien tugs gently on Adam's hair. "Good morning, boy."

"Good morning."

"Have enough for breakfast?"

Adam's lips twitch. He's almost had more to eat in the week and a half than he had the entire last six weeks of the tour. Almost. "More than enough. Close to too much."

"No such thing as 'too much' when you're talking pancakes." Damien makes a show of looking over Adam's shoulder, down the length of his back. "At least your your ass has returned."

Adam splutters around the last swallow of tea. A smile, wide-open and innocent, splits Adam's face as he gives Damien an offended, "Sir!"

Damien returns the grin, his eyes dancing mischievously. "Come on, boy. Time to clean up around here."

Together they set the kitchen and then the bedroom to rights, Damien grabbing and massaging and smacking Adam's ass at every opportunity.

The smile on Adam's face never dims.

* * *

Hammocks are ridiculously deceptive. They never seem stable, always swaying and conforming to every little movement. Adam does his level best to avoid the contraptions. And when he can't, he twitches, holding his body stiff, his hands tight around the edges as he prays to any listening deity that he just not end up face first under the damn thing.

Damien, on the other hand, loves them.

"Be still, boy." A swift smack to Adam's ass accompanies the demand. Along with the heavy weight of Damien's arm pulling Adam closer into his side. "You'll turn us both if you don't stop."

Adam bites back a whine as the hammock swings, adjusting to the change, and tries snuggling closer, listening to Damien's heart beat, letting his head follow the easy rise and fall of Damien's chest. "I don't trust these things."

"You don't have to," Damien replies. "I trust it."

"I don't know what to do in them."

"Relax. Listen to the water, enjoy the breeze." Damien drags a hand down Adam's back, stopping with his fingers splayed over a cheek of Adam's ass. "Just be."

Five minutes pass, time spent with Adam matching his breaths to Damien's, and then, the shoreline going fuzzy as his eyes lose focus, he starts to hum. It's an easy, bluesy sound that slowly morphs from the unknown into a distinct song. He starts again, loops around to the beginning, adding a smattering of words as his fingers drum the beat on Damien's stomach.

Adam is on the third pass when the humming stops altogether and the words to _Black Velvet_ sound over the tweet of the birds and the bushes rustling in the subtle wind. There are none of his signature vocal acrobatics; his voice is deeper, pitched lower than his usual.

It's Adam at his most raw. Not trying to impress anyone, just singing because he can't _not_ sing.

He misses the satisfied smile on Damien's face when his eyes flutter shut and his body goes limp as he moves seamlessly into another song.

It's the first time Adam has, without music playing in the background, simply given into the urge to sing since arriving.

* * *

They're stretched out on the couch, chest to chest, and the television is on, the sound low enough to keep the silences from being truly silent but not loud enough to interrupt. "So, really, nothing ever happened with Tommy?"

Adam can tell by the look on Damien's face that he is so not buying that. Shrugging, he looks up through the fall of hair and says, "Nothing real. I mean, there were the usual stuck-on-a-tour-bus snuggles. And a few times we drank way too much and ended up making out."

"Making out?"

"Yup."

"The boy is really straight?"

Adam cracks up. "The _boy_ is going to be thirty on his next birthday. I'm thinking he knows what he likes by now."

The arch of Damien's brow just makes Adam laugh harder.

"Oh, my god. Stop looking at me like that," he finally gasps, arms wrapped his middle, hands pressing in against the stitch in his side. "Come to my birthday party and I'll introduce you. Find out for yourself."

Damien grins but the glint in his eyes is serious. "I worried about that. About you and him and the endless possibilities from there. Thought maybe you were pinning your hopes on something, that maybe that's why we didn't see you out for a while on tour."

A blush races over Adam's cheeks. "It was in the back of my head. I mean. That shit on stage? It just kept escalating and half the time it was because of him. And he really is my type."

"I noticed," Damien snorts. "I swore I would tan your ass but good if you showed up here all broken-hearted and mopey."

Adam shakes his head. "Nah. I mean, if he was gay or bi, maybe. But we've got a good thing there, we're friends, we work well together, and, really, there is enough chemistry to make it believable when we're on stage. I wouldn't chance all that for an experiment."

"Good boy." Then Damien rolls them, tucking Adam beneath him and, hands tight over the cuffs around Adam's wrists, changes the subject and the atmosphere with one sentence. "I'm going to shave you again tonight."

Adam pulls against Damien's hold, not trying to escape, not testing Damien's strength. Just enjoying the feeling, the knowledge, that Damien still has the reigns. Arching up, he groans, "Yes. Please."

* * *

Damien is working on the second mark, sucking and tasting the bare skin of Adam's groin until red blossoms. He keeps going, pulling blood to the surface until it's a deep, rich, _dark_ purple-red. Then, backing off that particular bruise, he drags his tongue across the skin, flicking it against the length of Adam's cock, and then, when Adam arches and moans, when he spreads his legs wider and begs for Damien to suck him or fuck him or _something_ , Damien latches on to another area of pale flesh and bites down.

Adam will feel these marks for days. The pain will go from distracting to a dull ache to a barely there twinge when he moves a certain way. The color will take longer, lasting well into the first week that he's back in LA and out of Damien's reach, fading out as the carpet of dark ginger fills in around Adam's dick again.

Licking the stain of red and purple, Damien drops his hands lower and opens Adam, holding his ass cheeks apart with a tight grip. Before dipping his head down, he murmurs, "One word and I stop."

Squeezing his eyes tight, Adam wraps his fingers around the edge of the mattress, knuckles bleeding white with the tightness of his grip.

Damien's tongue brushes across his hole, a flittering touch so light that Adam almost – _almost_ – believes he imagined it. Then it happens again and again. Barely-there touches that have Adam going rigid, his thighs straining under his effort to be still, to be quiet, to be _good_. Anything to make sure stopping is the last thought in Damien's mind.

The first breach, when Damien pushes his tongue beyond the tightness and into Adam's ass, Adam arches, body rolling, seeking more. He bites his bottom lip, swallows against the rise of words, the begging and pleading and demanding, until the tang of copper, the sharp taste of blood seeps through the haze of _yes_ and _more_ and _please, fuck, please_.

He's slick, wet with Damien's saliva. His hole, the cleft of his ass, a small space of the sheet beneath him, all bearing the proof of Damien's assault, of Damien's single-minded focus to make Adam scream. A sheen of sweat covers Adam's chest, dampens his face and his arms.

Then Damien drags his teeth over the sensitized skin. Goosebumps break over Adam's arms and his dick jerks, the tip shiny with precome. His mouth falls open, his panting breaths dancing in time to the wet sounds, the slurp of thrust and retreat, of Damien's tongue fucking into his ass.

He's going to lose it. He's going to break and the words are going to tumble out, trip all over one another in a wanton display of hot fucking mess.

Adam trembles. It starts in along the edges – tingling over his scalp, curling his toes into the sheet – and works its way inward – bunching and relaxing the muscle in his thighs and back – until Adam caves, gives in to the need, the desperation zipping along his spine. Head thrown back, neck taut, Adam begs. A crazy mash-up of _Damien_ and _fuck me_ and _please_ and _good_ and _now, now, now_ that is more a garbled, drawn out moan than real, actual words.

It's enough, though, to have Damien pulling back, one hand smoothing a condom over his dick while the other smears cold lube over Adam's hole. Then he surges forward. He bends Adam damn near in double, pushing his cock into Adam's ass as he leans in and claims Adam's mouth in a soul-stealing kiss.

Damien works a hand between them, fingers teasing along Adam's dick until he's touching the span of skin between the base of Adam's cock and the jut of his hipbone. Damien presses down on the largest, the darkest of the marks on Adam's groin and rocks into Adam's ass hard and fast.

The pain blooms and spreads and, with Damien's possessive _Mine!_ echoing in Adam's ear, he comes, painting the space between them with hot spunk.

Relaxing back, riding out the aftershocks, the all-consuming shudders that take him with each turn of Damien's hips, Adam whispers, "Yes. Yours." And then, lips curling lazily, he adds, "Still."

* * *


End file.
